naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
2017-01-08 11:04 pm

(no subject)

 It will be a while before I get in to that treatment center.  I have to make the call first, and coordinate a bunch of shit.  There could be long delays, since my current gastroenterologist, with whom they will need to work for some things, is always really busy and getting in to see him could take weeks.

And, of course, I have to make phone calls.  That alone could take . . . an embarrassingly long time.  It's not stuff I can delegate, either.

I will let you all know when I'll be trying to get the money together.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
2017-01-08 11:17 pm

(no subject)

I hate being broken.  I am a constant embarrassment to myself in my inability to get shit done.  And intellectually I know it's not my fault, but the fact remains, I'm constantly falling apart.

I don't know what's wrong with me the past couple of weeks.  Or month.  Or however long it's been.  I've just been sleeping so much and unable to do hardly anything and have been severely resentful of anything that demands I leave the house or spend time with other people.  I don't know if it's still post-surgery exhaustion -- I mean, it's an easy answer to blame that but I've been fine up until now, you know?  On the mend.

I've been having trouble sleeping when I should, though.  Maybe it's my meds that need adjusting.  Maybe it's a mixed state trying to happen.  Maybe it's a depressive swing.  This time last year I was heading into a massive downward spiral that had me lower than I've been since I was diagnosed in 2007.  So maybe it's ripples.  I don't know. There's nothing reasonable or easy about this shit.

Add the IBS on top of it, and the fact that we only have one car and I don't have access to it during the time I am mostly awake and things are open and other people are awake, and it's just . . . I feel like I don't have a life.  I can't do things most other people can do.  Can't enjoy things.

I am happier in so many ways than I was, so I feel shitty complaining.  My life has radically improved.  That's why I'm pretty sure this is just . . . part of the illness, and not all that situational.

I wish I could just have, like, normal tolerances for things, and normal wants.  I wish I wanted to see people more often.  I wish I liked more people's company more than I do.  I wish that going to the store didn't take so much out of me.  I wish that I could accomplish daily chores more often than I do.

I just want to be a real person.